Read Online The Young Black Stallion by Walter Farley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Walter Farley
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cared what happened to him except his family and perhaps his camel, which he had trained for himself.
He knew people in his tribe who were saving for a horse. It would not be difficult to sell the black colt. But why should he think only of selling the colt to one of his tribesmen when there were others in the Rub‘ al Khali who would pay much more? There were wealthy sheikhs other than Ibn al Khaldun who wanted a black stallion for their very own.
The black colt had moved away, and the scout followed him in a leisurely fashion. There was no hurry. His hands and mind were quick, and he was confident he could capture the injured colt. Moreover, Abu Já Kub ben Ishak, master horse breeder that he was, would have handled his young horses as his own children. Despite what the black colt had experienced herein the mountains, Rashid felt certain he would welcome having his wounds treated.
It wasn’t long before the colt came to a stop, his lameness becoming more of a hindrance over the rocky ground. As Rashid neared him the colt pinned back his ears, and there was hatred in his eyes. If the colt had ever trusted men before, Khaldun’s whip had made sure he would never do so again.
Rashid stopped in his tracks, fear of the black horse lodging in his chest for the first time. He had seen such a look in the eyes of older stallions, but never in one so young. It was enough to stand a man’s hair on end! No longer was he certain that capturing Shêtân would be as easy as he’d thought. His lifelong experience had been with camels, he reminded himself, not mean and vicious stallions.
The change in the colt had come abruptly. He looked as if he wouldn’t trust anyone. Everybody was his enemy. So Rashid stayed well away from him, pondering what to do.
He decided, finally, that he would simply bide his time, staying in the vicinity of the ravine, hoping Shêtân would understand that he meant him no harm and would accept his attentions.
To that end he made camp near the stream and began looking for small-animal tracks in the dirt. Perhaps he could catch a hare for dinner.
He found the hoof marks of a grazing goat and not far away the paw print of an animal he believed to be a leopard. He was not surprised. Where there were wild goats, there would be an occasional leopard, as well as hyenas and wolves. But he had to be careful, forif the paw print truly was that of a leopard, it signaled the most dangerous animal of all.
Moving forward, he followed the prints until he lost them on the stony ground. Before long he picked up the hoof marks of the lone mountain goat again, and clearly visible in the dusty earth were the paw prints of the leopard. There was no mistaking the prints this time. The leopard’s pug “ball” was much larger than that of a hyena and the points of the claws did not show at all, as did the hyena’s when walking.
Finally he came to the end of his tracking. Clearly visible were drag marks where the leopard had obviously attacked and killed the goat, and then had hauled his victim away. Scattered at intervals were a few drops of blood, but most of the area was sunbaked and hard, the blood and tracks absorbed.
He had to be careful, for he knew leopards to be very dangerous, having tracked many of them in the arid savannas bordering the Rub‘ al Khali. They could be found wherever there was a reasonable amount of cover and enough animals to prey on. This area was ideal for them. He cautioned himself to be careful even though it was full daylight and leopards did most of their stalking and feeding at night.
There were many exaggerated stories about the treachery and ferocity of leopards. Yet he had known many of them to be very timid and foolish, quite harmless, running away at the first sight and sound of a human being. There were others, he reminded himself, with uncanny cunning, who could read and anticipate one’s every thought and had developed a taste for human flesh.
His father had told him of
He knew people in his tribe who were saving for a horse. It would not be difficult to sell the black colt. But why should he think only of selling the colt to one of his tribesmen when there were others in the Rub‘ al Khali who would pay much more? There were wealthy sheikhs other than Ibn al Khaldun who wanted a black stallion for their very own.
The black colt had moved away, and the scout followed him in a leisurely fashion. There was no hurry. His hands and mind were quick, and he was confident he could capture the injured colt. Moreover, Abu Já Kub ben Ishak, master horse breeder that he was, would have handled his young horses as his own children. Despite what the black colt had experienced herein the mountains, Rashid felt certain he would welcome having his wounds treated.
It wasn’t long before the colt came to a stop, his lameness becoming more of a hindrance over the rocky ground. As Rashid neared him the colt pinned back his ears, and there was hatred in his eyes. If the colt had ever trusted men before, Khaldun’s whip had made sure he would never do so again.
Rashid stopped in his tracks, fear of the black horse lodging in his chest for the first time. He had seen such a look in the eyes of older stallions, but never in one so young. It was enough to stand a man’s hair on end! No longer was he certain that capturing Shêtân would be as easy as he’d thought. His lifelong experience had been with camels, he reminded himself, not mean and vicious stallions.
The change in the colt had come abruptly. He looked as if he wouldn’t trust anyone. Everybody was his enemy. So Rashid stayed well away from him, pondering what to do.
He decided, finally, that he would simply bide his time, staying in the vicinity of the ravine, hoping Shêtân would understand that he meant him no harm and would accept his attentions.
To that end he made camp near the stream and began looking for small-animal tracks in the dirt. Perhaps he could catch a hare for dinner.
He found the hoof marks of a grazing goat and not far away the paw print of an animal he believed to be a leopard. He was not surprised. Where there were wild goats, there would be an occasional leopard, as well as hyenas and wolves. But he had to be careful, forif the paw print truly was that of a leopard, it signaled the most dangerous animal of all.
Moving forward, he followed the prints until he lost them on the stony ground. Before long he picked up the hoof marks of the lone mountain goat again, and clearly visible in the dusty earth were the paw prints of the leopard. There was no mistaking the prints this time. The leopard’s pug “ball” was much larger than that of a hyena and the points of the claws did not show at all, as did the hyena’s when walking.
Finally he came to the end of his tracking. Clearly visible were drag marks where the leopard had obviously attacked and killed the goat, and then had hauled his victim away. Scattered at intervals were a few drops of blood, but most of the area was sunbaked and hard, the blood and tracks absorbed.
He had to be careful, for he knew leopards to be very dangerous, having tracked many of them in the arid savannas bordering the Rub‘ al Khali. They could be found wherever there was a reasonable amount of cover and enough animals to prey on. This area was ideal for them. He cautioned himself to be careful even though it was full daylight and leopards did most of their stalking and feeding at night.
There were many exaggerated stories about the treachery and ferocity of leopards. Yet he had known many of them to be very timid and foolish, quite harmless, running away at the first sight and sound of a human being. There were others, he reminded himself, with uncanny cunning, who could read and anticipate one’s every thought and had developed a taste for human flesh.
His father had told him of
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